


Watching

by nerdypipsqueak



Series: Fictober 2019 [6]
Category: Real Person Fiction, The Mint - T. E. Lawrence
Genre: Drabble, Fictober 2019, Gen, Injury, People Watching, T. E. Lawrence under an assumed name, T. E. Shaw, very close friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 20:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak
Summary: Fictober prompt: “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”





	Watching

Palmer's always liked watching people. It's fascinating, the many different ways people can walk, talk, dress, move. You can learn a lot about a person if you know what to look for. 

Right now Palmer's watching Shaw.

Shaw's sitting cross-legged on his bed, trying to write with his left hand, his right pressed tightly to his chest. He looks a bit pale, does Shaw. He might be coming down with something.

"You're writing with your left hand." says Palmer, stretching out on his bed.

"Yes, I'm aware of that." Shaw's voice sounds a little strained. "Your point is?"

"I thought you were right-handed."

"I am."

Perplexed, Palmer glances at Shaw's right hand. The wrist is swollen, bruised, an ugly purple-red colour. "That looks broken."

"It's nothing." Shaw starts adjusting his sleeve, very slowly and carefully, as if he's trying not to move that hand too much. Palmer takes the hint and drops the subject. It's none of his business after all.

"Tha' does nae look right." Jock points at Shaw's swollen wrist.

"Yes, I know. Palmer here already brought it to my attention." Shaw responds dryly. 

"I'd get tha' checked if I were ye."

"But you're not me. Anyway, it really doesn't matter that much. It'll heal in no time."

"You're insane, Shaw." Palmer interjects. "Why don't you get that hand checked like a normal person?"

"Because it doesn't matter enough. Can I go to bed now or are you two planning on interrogating me for the rest of the night?"

Palmer wakes to the sound of creaking bedsprings and shuddering sobs. Shaw's probably having one of his nightmares again. He talks in his sleep, different languages, French, German, something that Palmer guesses might be Turkish or Arabic. 

The sobbing carries on and Palmer contemplates waking Shaw. But then the bedsprings creak again and Shaw's shadow, black against the moonlight, appears on the ceiling, a clear indication that he's sitting up. The sobbing gradually turns into gasping, unsteady breathes.

"Ned?" Russell hisses from his bed at the other end of the hut. The next thing Palmer hears is the padding of bare feet against the wooden floor and the sound of a mattress sinking.

"Ned." Russell whispers. "Neddy, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Arthur, really." Shaw whispers back, his voice shaky with tears.

"It hurts, doesn't it? Your hand?"

Palmer shifts onto his side, pulling the covers over his head, leaving a tiny gap, just enough to see through.Surely, Russell and Shaw are sitting on the latter's bed, very close to one another, mere inches apart. Then all of a sudden Shaw moves forward and rests his head against Russell's shoulder. He's sobbing again, obviously in a lot of pain.  
Russell puts an arm around Shaw, murmuring something, his voice so soft and low that Palmer can't make out a single word. To be quite honest, he doesn't really want to, he feels like he's intruding, this is not meant for his eyes.

Trying to act natural Palmer rolls onto his stomach. Whatever the hell is going on between Russell and Shaw, he doesn't need to see that.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on an episode from Lawrence's post-war life. He was helping someone restart their car, the crank backfired and hit him in the hand, breaking his wrist. He never got proper treatment for it (apparently when he'd returned to the base where he was stationed the medical officer was absent so he just soldiered on) and it affected him for the rest of his life. Later on his friends tried to get him to seek treatment but he refused saying that "it doesn't matter enough".  
I took the names of the other airmen from Lawrence's letters and "The Mint". I hope Jock's Scottish accent is OK.  
Regarding Arthur Russell: He was very close friends with Lawrence, to the point where people called them inseparable. There is some speculation about the true nature of their relationship and I believe it was Siegfried Sassoon who called Russell Lawrence's "Patroclus".


End file.
